


I Didn't Just Come Here To Dance

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Humor, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Prom, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 15:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: The story of their prom is just about the same as anyone else's:Everyone looked great, everyone danced and someone had the audacity to spike the punch.And if it wasn't for all the jealousy the night would have been a success and not the horrible mess that it seemed to turn into.





	I Didn't Just Come Here To Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldengalaxyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengalaxyboy/gifts).



> Hey! This is an idea I came up with in the dead of night a week or so ago and somehow managed to type down and send off to a friend who agreed that it was something that needed to be written. I think the summary makes it a little more dramatic than it actually is, but maybe that's the point of it. I hope you enjoy it anyway!  
> The title is a Carly Rae Jepsen song because why not?

Moritz really wasn’t keen on the idea of Prom. He was never keen on any of the dances their school held and had somehow managed to avoid going to them up until this point, but apparently Prom was different. He’d tried to get himself out of it, but the girls were persistent with the idea that all of their friends needed to be there, Moritz included. He tried to tell them that even if he did want to go he didn’t have a suit to wear, but they just said that he could rent one. He tried to convince them that he didn’t have the money for that or for a ticket, but they all offered to pitch in themselves. He tried to remind them that he couldn’t dance. They told him that they all knew that and that no one would even care, especially not any of them, and he didn’t even  _ have  _ to dance anyway. Moritz’s last attempt was that he didn’t have a date, it was the last thing he could think of that maybe might get him out of this situation, but when Martha just laughed and said that he could be hers he really couldn’t turn her down. So now Moritz was out of excuses, and it seemed that the easiest way to face this was to just go to Prom with everyone else. Even if it did end up that he didn’t dance and just moped at their table for the whole night, it seemed that his friends wanted him to be there anyway. He wasn’t really sure why that was, since it didn’t quite make sense to him, but he tagged along with Ernst and Georg when they went suit shopping, and he let Martha buy his tie so it would match her dress. By the time he was lined up on Wendla’s front lawn with all of his friends while Wendla’s mother took about five thousand different pictures of them all, he was almost used to the idea of going to Prom. 

 

He truly couldn’t fault that everyone looked really good. It was obvious that the large amount of effort that went into everyone’s appearances that night payed off. Martha’s dress was red, with a slit up to her thigh on one side and sparkles doning the bodice. Her hair was piled carefully in a braided bun at the top of her head, which she insisted was to keep it tamed enough to not get in the way while she danced. She was practically glowing, and her happiness made all of this easier for Moritz not to regret coming. Wendla and Ilse were matching so effortlessly that it was almost hilarious. Wendla’s dress was a marvel, the skirt was mostly tulle, the bodice a perfect mixture of flowers and lace. Ilse had opted for a shorter number, a tight black dress with flowers running up one side that stopped just shy of her knees, and a suit jacket thrown on top. Anna was in a blue ball gown that would make even Cinderella jealous, a cheeky tiara sitting within her blonde curls. Thea looked like the personification of sunshine, glowing as much as Martha was in her striking yellow dress that contrasted perfectly against her tanned skin and dark hair. 

 

Otto and Georg had opted for complimentary colours that somehow managed to align with their Hogwarts Houses (much to their delight), while Hanschen and Ernst went for a far more subtle look, Hanschen’s pocket square matching Ernst’s tie. Melchior seemed to be the odd one out this time. He was the only one without a date, and while he still looked amazing in his suit, the lack of colour really made him stand out amongst all his friends. Moritz wasn’t sure why he seemed to be so upset, surely he could have asked a number of the girls in their year to go with him if that was something that mattered. Ilse seemed to be fussing over him far more than usual which was a clear indication of something being even slightly wrong. Moritz thought that maybe he was just anxious after this whole ordeal. It would be a plausible theory except for the fact that Melchior was never really anxious. 

 

“Can we all pretend to be straight for a second and pair up?” Ilse asked, smiling at all of her (mostly) happy friends. “It’ll make a really good photo and you all know it.”

 

Moritz wondered if this was one of her attempts to make Melchior feel better because he did actually laugh when she pulled his arms around her in typical awkward-prom-pose fashion. He caught Melchior’s eye and smiled as he gently wrapped his arms around a laughing Martha, standing on tiptoe so he’d appear to be taller than her for the photo (much to her amusement).

 

Melchior wasn’t sure how many more photos were taken of them all. He wasn’t even sure if they’d somehow moved beyond countable numbers at this point, and he definitely wasn’t sure if he was smiling in most of them but he hoped that he was. He didn’t want to ruin the photos just because Moritz looked incredible in his suit and he was finding himself constantly distracted by it. That wasn’t something that he wanted to deal with yet. Not tonight, at least. Maybe tomorrow, or after graduation even, when Moritz was off at college somewhere or wherever he needed to be and Melchior could stop feeling  _ guilty  _ all of the time. Surely that was a much better option.

 

***

 

They weren’t late by any means but the room was already packed with their fellow classmates when they got there. Everyone was either already seated at their designated table or grouped around the room, talking to each other and complimenting everyone’s outfits. There was a photographer milling around, grabbing snaps of everyone, and a photobooth in one corner with a small table lined up with dumb props. Moritz knew that his friends would probably drag him over there at some point for sure. He wasn’t sure what to feel yet. He just knew that there were a lot of people in the room and while most of them were familiar faces, he was definitely very far out of his comfort zone, but when Martha kept squeezing his hand reassuringly that seemed to help quell his ever present anxiety. 

 

***

 

Hanschen didn’t get along with Bobby Maler in the slightest. In fact, he tried to avoid the other boy as much as he could, only speaking to him when he found that he absolutely had to. It helped keep him sane. It was impossible for the two of them to even be in the same room as each other most of the time, let alone work together, but when Bobby approached Hanschen with an incredibly important proposition (well, somebody just had to spike that god awful punch), then could be really be blamed for agreeing?

 

***

 

The lights were incredibly colourful and plunged the dance floor into a rainbow along with the various people on it. Moritz wasn’t sure why he’d let Martha talk him into this - he really was a horrible dancer - but he thought that it must have been something to do with the continuous happy streak that she seemed to be on. Her happiness wasn’t a common occurance, and it wasn’t always easy to come by, so of course he would do anything to keep her in this state. The thing that confused him most was that, for some reason, he was kind of enjoying himself. Once he seemed to get over his ‘I can’t fucking dance and everyone knows it and is looking at me’ anxiety, and realised that in fact no one could really care at all what he looked like when he was dancing since they were all too busy having fun with their own friends, he really found himself able to relax. Whether that helped his dancing or not he wasn’t really sure but Martha must have definitely noticed because her smile managed to grow about three sizes, and it couldn’t just be the song that started playing. Truly, Moritz couldn’t remember when either of them had smiled this much, or if that had even happened before, but that wasn’t something that he was going to think about at the moment. 

 

***

Ilse dropped into the seat next to Melchior at their table. She was panting and just the right amount of sweaty from the last few songs that it wasn’t unbearable just yet, but Melchior hadn’t moved from the table all night and she refused to leave him sitting by himself.

 

“Hi loser,” she teased, leaning her head against his shoulder for the briefest second to try and cheer him up. Melchior was swirling the last dregs of water in his glass. It was an action that would have appeared obnoxious if he didn’t seem so sad. 

 

“I feel like one,” was all he said respond and Ilse almost let out a groan at just how ridiculously  _ Melchior  _ that response was. 

 

She straightened up again, eyes not leaving him as worry started to bubble up inside of her. “Alright, what’s wrong? Why are you being all mopey over here for?”

 

Melchior shrugged and placed his glass back on the table, dropping his head into his hands for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted, resurfacing. “I just -” his eyes slid towards the dancefloor, “I don’t know.”

 

Ilse followed his gaze even if she knew where it lead. Of course he was looking at Moritz, Melchior has been watching Moritz all night. “He looks good doesn’t he?” she mused.

 

He slumped back in his chair, almost exasperated by that. “He always looks good,” he muttered. “There, I said it.”

 

She smiled at him and nudged him gently. “Is that why you’re being a sook?”

 

Melchior looked between her and the happiest Moritz he had ever seen and shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

 

Ilse nodded and sighed. She watched Moritz and Martha for a moment, her eyes finding some of her other friends in the room as well. Otto and Georg were unapologetically doing the sprinkler and she’d be so tempted to film it for laughs at a later date if her priority wasn’t Melchior. “What do you want me to say, Melchi?” she asked.

 

“That I’m an idiot. That I should have asked him when I had the chance. That I’m being irrational and ruining tonight for everyone,” he shrugged. “That’s all I can think of right now. Ask me again in half an hour or something.”

 

“So it’s jealousy then?”

 

“Partially, I guess.”

 

She nodded. “You could just ask him to dance, you know.”

 

“He wouldn’t say yes to me,” Melchior replied. He looked down at his now empty glass of water. He had to refill it with something. 

 

“You’d be surprised.”

 

Melchior shook his head. He indicated Moritz of the dancefloor, watched as he jokingly spun Martha in a circle while somehow managing to say in time with the upbeat music. “I can’t ruin that,” he said simply. 

 

Ilse looked from Moritz to Melchior. “You wouldn’t be,” she reassured. 

 

He smiled at that, ever so faintly. “You’d be surprised.” It was almost mocking, at least, it would have been if it hadn’t sounded so empty. 

 

“Look, Melchi, I’m going to go join them and then you can come over and I’ll pull Martha away for a drink or something. Then you’ll be dancing with him,” she tried.

 

“You don’t need to pretend that it’s about dancing,” he replied. “You know what it’s really about.” His hand fell against his chest, over his heart.

 

_ Feelings _ , she almost supplied for him, but it wasn’t something that needed to be spoken. ‘Well, you better promise  _ me  _ a dance then,” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“No promises. Go and dance with your girlfriend, Ilse. Don’t let me keep you here.”

 

Ilse rested a hand against his shoulder gently. “Just try and have some fun, ok?”

 

Melchior nodded, tried his best to offer her a smile. “I’ll try, but right now I just need to get some punch,” he said, picking up his empty glass and quickly standing. He looked down at her, knew that she wasn’t convinced. “I’m ok, Ilse. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

 

Ilse nodded and watching him walk in the direction of the punch table. She always worried, it was just part of what made her who she was. Wendla dropped into the seat next to her, Thea on her other side. 

 

“How’s the pining going?” Wendla asked, trying her best to hide the fact that she was smirking.

 

Ilse couldn’t help but laugh at that. “He’s a mess,” she replied.

 

“Took him long enough,” Thea shrugged.

 

“Trust Melchi to wait until Prom to realise that he’s in love with Moritz.”

 

“Oh come on,” Ilse teased. “Give him a little credit, the timing is almost romantic.”

 

***

 

There wasn’t even that many people around the refreshments table and Melchior wasn’t sure if he found that strange or not. He filled his glass up with punch, careful not to spill any of it. He wasn’t sure when his hands had become shaky but was probably due to all the feelings he had bottled up inside of him. Maybe that was their way of trying to get out when he didn’t let them. He scarfed down the entire glass and poured another, tempted to just chug that one as well. He decided to throw all caution to the wind and was halfway through his second glass when he heard someone speak to him.

 

“Whoa! Take it easy there, Gabor.”

 

“Don’t fucking talk to me, Maler,” he replied, feeling unreasonable anger start to churn inside of him. 

 

“I’m not joking, alright? Try not to drink too much of the punch.”

 

Melchior looked over at him. He was confused about two things mostly, the first being that Bobby was being nice to him. The second was that he looked like he was hiding something. “Whatever,” he said anyway, finishing his glass out of some kind of spite and then pouring another. 

 

“Christ,” Bobby muttered, turning away from him and disappearing amongst the other students. 

 

Melchior headed back to the table carefully. He didn’t usually mope, it wasn’t nearly his thing. It was childish and stupid and he knew that. It was ridiculous that he was succumbing to this, and he hated himself for it, but that seemed to be what the night had come to.

 

***

 

  
“Hanschen!”

 

Hanschen turned to see Bobby Maler approaching him for the second time that night. He really didn’t want this to become some kind of pattern but he thought that he could see the beginnings of concern etched on the other boy’s features. He’d never been more confused in his life. “Maler,” he greeted. “You’re making a habit of this.”

 

“How much did you put in the punch?” he asked, urgency lacing his tone.

 

Hanschen felt suspicion start to creep in immediately. “Enough,” he answered. “Why?”

 

Bobby sighed, a hand coming up to pull at his hair. “Ok, so don’t blame me for this,” he started, and Hanschen couldn’t help but smirk at that, “but Gabor has had at least two and a half glasses of punch.”

 

“Oh no,” Ernst muttered beside him.

 

“What?” Hanschen asked, staring daggers into Bobby.

 

He held his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, I know I know. I told you not to blame me, ok? I tried to stop him but … he seems really on edge tonight. I think he might have needed it or something. If he knows, I mean.”

 

Hanschen sighed, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling for a second because  _ why tonight Melchior for fuck’s sake _ .

 

“Like, I said, tried to stop him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for telling me.”

 

“Whatever,” Bobby shrugged and then sauntered off again. 

 

Hanschen could feel Ernst tugging on his jacket insistently and turned face him. The look of concern on his face was enough to remind Hanschen of why this was going to be such a disaster. They would have gotten away with spiking the punch, they would have, but now they had to deal with this instead. 

 

“Melchior’s a lightweight,” Ernst muttered.

 

Hanschen nodded and sighed quietly to himself. “Well,” he took Ernst’s hand easily, “we better find Ilse.”

 

***

 

“What do you mean you spiked the punch?” Ilse asked. She wasn’t even angry. She couldn’t be really, it was a normal, predictable thing to have happened, especially tonight. It was just a shame that tonight seemed to mean the undoing of one of her best friends. 

 

“Yeah,” Hanschen muttered. “It’s probably as bad as it sounds if not worse.”

 

Wendla was frowning next to her. Ilse could practically feel her trying to think of something to do that would help with the situation. She didn’t need to ask to know that she couldn’t seem to.

 

“What do we do?” Ernst pressed. He was worried, clutching at Hanschen’s arm tighter that he probably should have been. 

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess we have to wait and see how bad it gets.”

 

***

 

Melchior wasn’t sure what was in the punch, he thought that he could maybe taste strawberries? Or something fruity at least, but either way it was starting to make him a little dizzy. That’s probably he gets for gulping down so much of it all at once. He decided that he must have deserved this without really thinking. Melchior spun his tie in his hands, absently curling and uncurling it. Maybe if he just sat here then the dizziness would fade. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to or not. 

 

***

 

“We should probably stop for a bit,” Martha laughed. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been dancing for. She’d lost count after the third song. All she knew was that it didn’t seem to matter. She was having fun and that’s all she wanted to care about. 

 

Moritz just nodded in response. Shifting the two of them so they were out of the immediate confines of the dancefloor. “Do you want some punch?” he asked. 

 

“I heard it was spiked by someone,” she smirked.

 

“Wow, I wonder who would do such a thing,” he laughed. “I’ll get some water. You can head back to the table if you want.”

 

“I think I just need to sit down,” she beamed, before heading off. Martha slumped down in her seat at the table and started to feel the ache in her limbs. They must have been dancing for a while for that to happen. She hadn’t really realised that pain could be associated with a positive memory and not a negative one. 

 

“Hey, Melchi,” she smiled, looking over at him. “You ok?” she added when he didn’t say anything in return. 

 

Melchior’s head snapped up, his eyes were just a little glassed over and he looked at her like he only just noticed she was there. “Oh, hey Martha,” he greeted, a sappy smile lighting up his face for a moment.

 

Martha knew that look immediately. She looked at the empty glass in front of him and almost rolled her eyes at it. “You ok?” she repeated, meaning to access just how tipsy he was. 

 

“Clean as a jellybean,” he said. “Cool. Cool as a jellybean. Wait, that doesn’t work …” he trailed off.

 

“Cool as a cucumber?” she offered.

 

His nose scrunched up at that. “Yeah, but cucumbers aren’t nice.”

 

Martha bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. She knew that she shouldn’t find this funny, but Melchior seemed to be just a  _ tad  _ passed tipsy. She wondered how much he’d had to drink, and if he’d known that the punch of spiked or not. 

 

“Do you know where Moritz is?” he asked, looking up at her again, hands fiddling with his tie.

 

She jolted at that. “Why?”

 

Melchior shrugged, suddenly somber again. His hands dropped to the glass in front of him, twisting around it. “I’m not good,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “Not good to him, and I should be better.”

 

Martha looked at him for a moment. She wondered where all this was coming from. She wondered why it was something that only seemed to come out when he was drunk. There was always so much more to him than any of them gave him credit for. He really needed to learn that bottling all this up inside him wouldn’t help in the slightest. She slid a few seats over so she was next to him. “You treat him fine, Melchi,” she reassured. 

 

“Fine,” he nodded, “but could be better. I think I have … something to tell him tonight. I think.”

 

Oh shit. Martha scanned the room quickly, trying to spot some of her friends. She found Ilse, locking eyes with her. Ilse held up three fingers and then drew a question mark in the air in front of her. At least three glasses then. “Oh boy,” she whispered under her breath, grateful that the loud music in the room drowned that out. She could see Moritz slowly making his way over to the table, holding two glasses and praying that he didn’t trip or spill them. 

 

“Do you want to dance, Melchi?” Martha asked, turning to her downtrodden friend. 

  
“Dance?” he asked, looking up at her again, his hands falling to his lap this time. He made it sound like dancing was a foreign concept to him and if that wasn’t a clear indication that he was well drunk then she didn’t know what was. 

 

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Dance. With me.”

 

Melchior looked at her for a moment. He blinked a few times, thinking that surely Martha was tired. He thought that she’d been dancing all night. Hadn’t she?” “I-”

 

Martha stood up quickly, grabbing his arm and gently pulling him out of his seat and towards the dancefloor. The fact that he swayed a little and seemed to be having a hard time staying upright wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. 

 

“I haven’t danced in -”

 

“A long time, and you’re not good at it. I know, Melchi. Don’t worry about that, it’s not the point,” she explained, keeping a firm hand on his arm. 

 

***

 

Ilse reached the table the same time that Moritz did and she was so very grateful for that timing. He placed the two glasses down on the table carefully and beamed up at her, obviously proud that he’d managed to get all the way there without spilling or dropping either of them. She smiled in return. Under any other circumstances, she’d probably make a joke about it but she wasn’t quite in a joking mood at the moment. 

 

“Martha heard about the punch so we opted for some water instead. I can get you some if you like,” he offered.

 

Ilse looked up at him. She hadn’t seen him like relaxed in … she couldn’t even remember if Moritz had  _ ever  _ been this relaxed. “You are so special,” she said. “I hope we always remind you of that.”

 

Moritz’s brow furrowed, confused by the compliment, but he took the seat next to her anyway. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

 

Realistically this wasn’t something that she could keep from him. It wasn’t fair to keep it from him, and she was sure he’d find out soon enough. “Melchi’s smashed,” she explained.

 

“What?”

 

“We’re not really a hundred percent sure but we know he’s had at least three glasses of the punch, and you know how well he handles that.”

 

“Holy shit,” Moritz muttered. He sat for a moment, letting the knowledge sink in. He knew that Melchior has been upset, but he didn’t realise that he would feel the need to drink that much. Unless no one had told him about the punch being spiked. 

 

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

 

Moritz scanned the room quickly, eyes darting from group to group and trying to locate his friends. “Is he ok?”

 

“Martha’s with him. He’s ok just -”

 

“Hammered.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Moritz wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this kind of information. He guessed that he knew that this would happen to  _ someone  _ tonight, but he didn’t assume that it would be Melchior. He’d seen Melchior drunk before, they all had, but there was something about the timing this time that was really bothering him. Something pulling at the back of his mind. “Have I done something wrong?” he turned back to Ilse. There was a familiar feeling pressing against his chest. Guilt. 

 

“God no,” she defended, quickly placing a hand on his arm to try and reassure him. “Of course not, Moritz, Melchior’s just -”

 

“Not himself?” he offered, almost smirking. 

 

“He’s just having an unusually rough night tonight,” she explained.

 

Moritz knew all too well what rough nights felt like.

 

“But don’t blame yourself, Moritz. I promise, none of this is because of you.”

 

Then why was his guilt still so very prevalent? “You sure?”

 

She nodded. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

 

Moritz gazed around the room again. He could see Hanschen and Ernst talking to Otto and Georg. All of their faces looked far more grave than they should have been on a night like this. He wondered how many of his friends knew about Melchior, or even if anyone outside of the group did. He guessed that it might not take people too long to find out. “I’m sorry, Ilse,” he said, not quite looking at her.

 

“Don’t be,” she shrugged. “Melchi’s going to feel bad enough in the morning for all three of us.”

 

“Do you know why he had so much of the punch?”

 

She sighed, her fingers moving gently to the corsage tied to her wrist. “I don’t think he knew that it was spiked,” she replied. 

 

He didn’t say anything in response.

 

“You keep enjoying yourself, ok? Don’t let this ruin your mood tonight. We’ll look after him. Don’t worry.”

 

Even with reassurances like that, and with the eyes of all of his friends on Melchior, he was still worried. He was started to realise that maybe he’d been worried all night.

 

***

 

After dancing with Martha, Melchior ended up dancing with Otto and Georg, and then Anna, Ernst and Thea. He wasn’t too sure why he was seeing so many of his friends all of a sudden, not that he minded at all, but none of them were really who he  _ needed  _ to see. 

 

“Do you know where Moritz is?” he asked Ernst, because Ernst could never lie to him. It was against everything that he stood for, and everything he was as a person. 

 

“Why?” he muttered, eyes darting everywhere but at Melchior. “I don’t - I haven’t really seen him in a bit,” he tried.

 

“Well, where did you see him last?”

 

Ernst bit down on his lip and weighed the pros and the cons of answering Melchior’s question truthfully. He was sure that lying to Melchior would only make him more upset, which was definitely what they were all trying to avoid tonight. So, the cons were absolutely worse in this situation. “What do you plan on saying to him?” he asked instead. “Ilse mentioned that you said you wanted to talk to him.”

 

“I do,” he confirmed. “I-” Melchior paused for a moment. What did he want to say again? He was sure that he knew it. He’d been thinking it just a moment ago. At least, he thought he was. Wow, his memory wasn’t usually this bad. “I can’t remember,” he admitted.

 

Ernst couldn’t help but laugh. It was so predictable of him, a drunk Melchior was a very forgetful one, far more so than a sober one. What were they supposed to be worried about? If Melchior couldn’t even remember why he’d ended up so wasted in the first place, what harm could he do? “Last time I saw him, he was at our table,” he said.

 

Melchior could have hugged him, but he didn’t. He just patted Ernst on the shoulder as he walked passed. “Thank you.”

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ilse teased, purposely standing in his way. Melchior didn’t even bother to try and move around her, he just accepted his fate. 

 

“I need to talk to Moritz,” he replied.

 

Ilse looked at him for a moment, trying to access his current condition. “Yeah?”

 

“Ilse, I can’t remember what it is but I know that it’s important. Please.”

 

She sighed. He was harmless like this. The least she could do was let them talk to each other. She stood aside, her hand skimming his shoulder as he moved passed her. Whatever he planned on saying, if anything, it better be good.

 

***

 

Moritz stared down at the empty glass in front of him. It was Melchior’s glass and he probably shouldn’t be looking at it as if it was the last piece of a puzzle he was trying to solve but he couldn’t really help it. He wished he knew what was upsetting Melchior so much. It couldn’t just be that he didn’t have a date. It had to be something else, but Melchior never really talked about his feelings unless he was ranting about some kind of injustice, so Moritz really had no way of of knowing. He thought that maybe Ilse did. She knew Melchior better than all of them sometimes, but he didn’t think she’d be willing to talk to him about it. Not yet at least. Maybe he could ask her tomorrow after all this had blown over and they didn’t need to worry about Melchior anymore. He’d probably sleep most of the next day anyway, as an attempt to get rid of his hangover. 

 

Melchior practically collapsed into the seat next to him and Moritz probably would have laughed under any other circumstances. He would have laughed if he wasn’t instantly worried. 

 

“Christ, Melchi. Are you ok?”

 

Melchior looked up at him for a moment. Moritz could see that he was completely gone at this point. “Hey,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

 

“Hey.”

 

They sat there for a moment, neither of them speaking. Moritz wondered what the hell he was supposed to do in this situation. 

 

Melchior rested his hand on Moritz’s shoulder for a moment. He wasn’t really thinking at this point, at least he didn’t think he was but it kind of felt nice. He looked Moritz up and down for a moment, remembering just how  _ good  _ he looked tonight. He straightened the lapels of Moritz’s jacket absently. He wasn’t really sure if he heard breath catch in Moritz’s throat or if he imagined it. He couldn’t really hear much of anything except for the music at this point anyway. “You look good tonight,” he muttered. “I hope people have been telling you that. You look really good.”

 

Moritz wasn’t really sure what the fuck was happening but he was pretty aware that he couldn’t really breathe. “You’re drunk,” he said. “Do you know that?”

 

“Why would I be drunk?” 

 

He laughed at that. “Melchi, someone spiked the punch and you had like three glasses of it. Of course you’re drunk.”

 

“So that’s why it tasted weird.”

 

Moritz just shook his head. He looked down at Melchior’s hand which still hadn’t moved from his jacket and wondered how long it would take Melchior to realise what he was doing, if he ever really did. 

 

“I like the tie,” he muttered. “Red’s a good colour on you. And it matches Martha’s dress.”

 

“That’s the point.”

 

“Oh … of course it is.”

 

“Do you always compliment people like this when you’re drunk?” he asked, because he couldn’t really stop himself. This made no sense to him at all. Melchior had never been like this before, drunk, sober or otherwise. 

 

Melchior shook his head but Moritz wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d even heard the question. “I have something to tell you,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. 

 

“What?”

 

“I need to tell you something.”

 

“I literally can’t hear you right now. Hang on.” Moritz shifted their chairs closer together, leaning closer towards him. Melchior moved his hand, dropping it into his lap and Moritz wasn’t sure if he liked that better or not. “What are you trying to say?” 

 

“I was going to ask you, I think,” he muttered.

 

“Ask me what?”

 

“Prom. To prom. I think I was going to ask you, but I can’t remember why I didn’t.”

 

Moritz looked at him for a moment. He couldn’t even tell if this was Melchior talking or the punch. “You were going to ask  _ me  _ to prom?” he asked.

 

Melchior nodded. “I  _ was  _ going to but I’m a chicken idiot - a chicken - an idiot chicken.”

 

“You’re an idiot chicken?” he smirked.

 

When Melchior nodded this time it was less serious and more confused.

 

“Are you trying to say that you chickened out?”

 

“Yes - That - I’m a chicken.”

 

Moritz sat there for a moment. Melchior didn’t say anything further as clarification, and Moritz had no idea if he knew what he was saying let alone if he was telling the truth or not. He wasn’t sure why the thought of Melchior even  _ considering  _ asking him to prom was starting to make his heart race, but it must have been panic. Right?

 

“I know,” Melchior continued, his hand falling on Moritz’s knee this time - and Moritz was sure that he was either dying or dreaming and couldn’t quite tell which, “that it’s stupid to tell you that, especially now since you’re having a such a good night with Martha, and you  _ should  _ be, but I think that I want you to know that.”

 

“Melchior, what are you saying?” he asked, because he really had no idea what was happening at this point. Or what Melchior wanted him to take from this.

 

Melchior paused for a moment, he seemed to be really considering the question. His hand moved from Moritz’s knee back to his shoulder and when he looked up at him again Moritz thought that he looked  _ almost  _ sober. Melchior seemed to be in this weird state where he was had  _ almost  _ achieved a seriousness that could be linked to his sober self, but he wasn’t quite there yet, and what he said next had Moritz questioning every single thing that he had ever known. 

 

“Moritz, I’m saying that I love you.”

 

The world was so fucking cruel and Moritz would never forgive it for this, because in some ways this was all he wanted. This was all he’d ever wanted, but Melchior was so so drunk and he had absolutely no idea what he was saying right now. Moritz was sure that if he was actually sober and aware of himself then that wouldn’t even be something that passed his mind, and yet here Melchior was, saying that he loved him. “Melchi, you’re so drunk,” he said, and hoped that Melchior didn’t pick up on just how strained he sounded, and just how much he wanted to get out of there. 

 

“Maybe so but that doesn’t change -”

 

“No, no it does change it. And you know it does. At least you’ll know it in the morning,” Moritz pulled away and stood up. “I need to - to find Ilse,” he muttered, quickly scrambling from the table. 

 

***

 

When Moritz practically ran up to her, Ilse wasn’t expecting him to look like he was about to start crying. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. When he asked her if she knew what had been put in the punch and she explained that she didn’t have an answer for him that just seemed to make it worse. Ilse pulled him over to the wall gently, trying to steer clear of most of their classmates so that they wouldn’t overhear anything, and asked him what was wrong.

 

“Someone needs to take him home,” he said.

 

“Why?” she asked.

 

Moritz looked at her for a moment, his eyes flicked around the room absently and then landed back on her. “He thinks he loves me.”

 

Part of Ilse wanted to grab Moritz by the shoulders and shake him because  _ He does love you, you idiot, you just don’t know how to look for it _ , but she knew that was irrational. She knew that Moritz was trying to distance himself from this, because he was so intent on convincing himself that Melchior didn’t love him and that none of what he himself felt for him was valid. All Ilse did was nod, agree to help take Melchior home and then slowly start to find the others to let them know that they were leaving. 

 

***

 

The drive back to Melchior’s house was so incredibly quiet that it was almost haunting. Wendla was driving, because she insisted that she was absolutely the best driver out of all of them, and the most sober. Ilse was in the passenger seat fiddling with the radio to try and get some actual  _ good  _ music while Moritz and Melchior were in the back. Melchior was probably only 30% awake, the night seeming to hit him all at once, and was resting his head against Moritz’s shoulder, much to his surprise. Moritz wasn’t quite sure what to do. He just tried to stayed very still as to not jostle Melchior too much and counted his breaths to make sure he was still breathing.

 

“We’re almost there,” Ilse said, turning in her seat and looking at the two of them. It would have been a sweet sight if Moritz didn’t look more uncomfortable than he had all night. “All ok?” 

 

“Fine,” Moritz managed, his eyes boring into Ilse’s because he knew that she understood everything that he was feeling right now. 

 

“You didn have to .. tak … me hum …” Melchior muttered, his speech slurring. 

 

“It’s alright, Melchi,” she reassured, voice soft. 

 

“Two minutes tops,” Wendla called, eyes not leaving the road.

 

“You gonna be ok for two minutes?” Ilse asked, looking over at Moritz.

 

He just nodded in response. 

 

***

 

“Melchior, I need your house keys,” Ilse prompted as she and Moritz gently helped him out of the car. His legs seemed to have practically given up at this point so he was leaning on Moritz with just about all of his weight. Melchior shuffled in his pockets for a moment, he pulled out his phone, his wallet, a bunch of napkins from their table, a pack of gum, a lighter (Melchior didn’t smoke so none of them knew why that was there), and then finally his keys before handing them to Ilse. 

 

Somehow the two of them managed to half-lead, half-drag Melchior to his room without waking up his parents which was some kind of miracle. Ilse quickly left to grab a glass of water and some aspirin from the kitchen because god knew that he would need it in the morning. Melchior was somehow managing to still be standing even though he looked exhausted enough to collapse at any second.

 

“Where’d Ilse go?” he muttered, pulling a hand through his hair and blinking more than necessary as he tried to focus on Moritz. 

 

“She had to get you stuff for the morning. Since you’ll feel like shit,” Moritz shrugged.

 

“And then she’s leaving?” 

 

“I guess so. Wendla’s waiting for her.”

 

A pause. 

 

“Are you leaving too?”

 

Moritz didn’t really have an answer to that. He could probably ask Wendla if she could drive him home, and she’d probably say yes. “I guess.”

 

Melchior shook his head, taking a few steps closer to him. “I don’t … want you … to leave,” he muttered.

 

“Melchi, you’re drunk and you need to sleep.”

 

He shook his head again, then threw his arms around him and pulled him into a hug.

 

Moritz had no idea what to do. Melchior didn’t really hug him all that much, and yet here they were. “Um-”

 

“Can you stay?”

 

All Moritz knew what that Melchior was so incredibly close to him right now, and he had trouble saying no to him if he was on the other side of the let alone  _ this _ . “Melchi-”

 

“Please.”

 

_ Fuck _ . “I’ll stay.”

 

“Yesss.”

 

Moritz was pretty sure he was dying from this inside out. That had to be what this felt like. 

 

Ilse came back into the room just as Melchior was pulling away. She quickly placed the glass down on his bedside table, setting the aspirin next to it before crossing room again back to the boys. “Are you going to be ok, tonight?”

 

Melchior nodded. “Moritz is staying,” he said, sounding more sober than he had in hours.

  
“Yeah?” she looked over at Moritz. He just shrugged. “Well, text me in the morning when you wake up so I know you’re alright. Ok?” 

 

Melchior nodded and pulled Ilse into a hug before she left. He looked at Moritz and Moritz looked back at him. “I’m tired,” he said after a few minutes of silence. 

  
“Sleep then,” Moritz muttered.

 

Melchior looked at him for a moment, trying to pull his tie from around his neck. “You ok?”

 

“You’re going to choke yourself,” he sighed. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re tightening it. Hang on.” Moritz took a few steps forward, closing the distance between him and Melchior. He batted Melchior’s hands away and undid his tie for him, trying to ignore the way Melchior was looking at him with wide eyes.  _ It’s not real _ , he thought to himself.  _ He’s just drunk _ …  _ and needy, probably.  _

 

“Thanksss.”

 

“You need to sleep,” he reminded. 

 

“Do you … like … cutlery?”

 

Moritz nudged him gently towards the bed. “You should sleep, Melchi. If you want me to stay then I’m staying, but you need to sleep.”

 

Melchior nodded and tugged gently on Moritz’s arm.

 

“Yeah, I’m coming hang on.” He quickly pulled everything out of his pockets, putting his phone on do not disturb, taking off his shoes, belt and tie. He turned the light off quickly before making his way over to the bed. He’d slept at Melchior’s house before. They’d had a lot of sleepovers, even when they were kids, but this was different. 

 

“Moritz?” Melchior muttered as he climbed in next to him.

 

“Yeah?”

  
“Are you ok?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

There was a moment where neither of them said anything or so much as moved. Moritz wondered if Melchior could hear his heart beating because that seemed to be all that he could hear, his own heart and Melchior’s quiet breathing. 

 

“Can I …?” Melchior trailed off.

 

“Can you what?” he muttered. 

 

Melchior shifted, resting his head against Moritz’s shoulder and throwing an arm across his stomach. “Is this … ok?”

 

Moritz couldn’t breath and he was pretty sure his heart was going to give out soon. He probably should have told Ilse that she needed to tell all his friends that he loved them, since he might not be able to after tonight. 

 

“Moritz?”

 

“Uh, yeah. It’s ok.”

 

Melchior somehow moved even closer to him and  _ god  _ Moritz didn’t know how to deal with this. “Why do you want me to stay?” he asked.

 

“I told you.”

 

“Told me what?”

 

“I love you.”

 

Moritz didn’t say anything to that. He was too busy thinking about how that was the second time Melchior had said that tonight and since he was completely wasted he’d regret it in the morning. He’d take it back then so Moritz decided that he didn’t have to accept it anyway. He just wished that he could ignore it or that he could pretend that none of this was really happening because that would just make things easier.  _ You’ll kick me out in the morning _ , he thought _ , but it’s worth it … for now.  _

 

***

 

When Melchior woke up it took him a few minutes to figure out where he was. He was in his room, that he knew, but he also wasn’t alone which wasn’t something he was entirely used to. He could feel two hands fisted in the front of his shirt, arms around around him and someone pressing against his back. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out what had happened to get him into this situation. He noticed the aspirin and water on his bedside table and slowly the night started coming back to him. He was scared to move since he knew the headache would hit him like a freight train but he had to take the aspirin and send Ilse a thank you text, if his phone managed to have any battery left. He looked down at the two hands in his shirt and couldn’t help but smile. Regardless of how bad his hangover was going to be, he was just grateful that Moritz was still there with him. Melchior gently tried to pry Moritz’s hands off him, just so he could take the aspirin. He felt Moritz shift behind him, but instead of letting go he was holding tighter, and moving closer. 

 

“Don’t,” he muttered.

 

“It’s ok, Moritz. I’ll just be a second,” he reassured. 

 

There was another ‘no’ groan but Moritz let go and Melchior quickly reached out for the aspirin. And  _ fuck  _ this headache was really bad, he just hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to kick in. Melchior turned so that he was facing Moritz. His eyes were barely open, his hair sticking up erratically on the side that wasn’t pressed against the pillow and Melchior could tell he was barely 5% awake in that moment. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

“Hey?” Moritz muttered, it was more like a question than a statement and Melchior could tell he was just confused to be there at all. 

 

Melchior took his hands gently in his, trailing his thumbs over them slowly. “Thanks for staying.”

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

“No, why would I want that?”

 

Moritz blinked a few times, trying his best to wake up as much as possible. “I can leave if you want.”

 

“I don’t want that.” Melchior wasn’t sure why Moritz seemed so confused by that. He wasn’t sure why he seemed to think that leaving would be the best thing to happen right now. Truth be told, Melchior never wanted him to leave.

 

“I’m going to close my eyes,” he muttered, “and then open them again and I’ll be at home and you won’t be here.”

 

Melchior almost laughed. It was probably something that he would find endearing if it wasn’t so sad. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. 

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

When Moritz closed his eyes, Melchior leaned in slowly and pressed their lips together, savouring the surprised gasp that Moritz made in response, his hand tangling in the front of Melchior’s shirt. 

 

“Melchi -” he muttered when he pulled away.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What was that for?”

 

Melchior just looked at him, a smiling spreading across his face. “You know what that’s for,” he said.

 

Moritz’s eyes flew open, his breath seemed to catch in his throat. “Because you love me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He hesitated, eyes flicking between Melchior and his hand. “Are you sure?” he asked.

 

“Moritz -”

 

“Just ... indulge me for a minute, ok?”

 

Melchior tilted Moritz’s chin up gently so he could see his eyes. “I’m sure,” he said. “And I’m sober so you have to believe m -”

 

Moritz tugged on the front of Melchior’s shirt, pulling him towards him and crushing their lips together. Melchior wrapped his arms around him in retaliation and pulled him closer. Moritz wasn’t sure if he was still breathing but this was infinitely better in any case. Melchior pulled away first, both of them breathing hard. Neither of them spoke for what felt like a long time. They just lay there, Melchior intertwined their fingers together slowly, reveling in how it felt. 

 

“Melchi?” Moritz muttered, breaking the silence. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

 

Melchior looked up at him, a smirk on his face. “You sure?” he teased. 

 

Moritz shoved at him. “You’re an asshole!”

**Author's Note:**

> So ... I've never been to prom and I don't drink so I've never been drunk either and may have taken a whole lot of artistic liberties in this fic but it stands as my longest one shot yet so I'm proud of it anyway.  
> Thanks for reading! I've over at potter-awakening on Tumblr if you want to chat :)


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